


After Alcatraz: The Acts of John "Pyro" Allerdyce

by eldee



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M, community: xmmficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-26
Updated: 2006-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 08:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldee/pseuds/eldee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>According to the US authorities, five crates of the serum commonly known as the "mutant cure" in its needle weapon form are unaccounted for. It is believed the weapons are being illegally sold to various individuals and organizations, including anti-mutant groups. Mutants are cautioned to remain on guard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Alcatraz: The Acts of John "Pyro" Allerdyce

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Nekare for the X-Men Movie Ficathon 2006. (Pairing/scenario requested: John/Bobby - Post X-3, John gets accidentally shot with the cure. He wanders around a couple of cities, picks fights at every place he enters. Bobby goes after him, following his trails thanks to the articles in the newspaper.)
> 
> Thanks to sephiroth01 for the beta.

**[ ACT I ]**

 

 **[ I.i ]**

Pyro came to when he heard yelling and shouts from all around and light pattering from above him. He opened his eyes and saw only black, but quickly realized that he was underneath a dark blanket. He was crammed into some small space and was uncomfortable with a sharp edge poking into his kidney from behind. But he wasn't stupid - he knew better than to move or draw any attention to him until he knew exactly what was going on.

Very slowly and stealthily, Pyro lifted the blanket until he could look out. He found that he was in some vehicle, probably an SUV, shoved in the back between some luggage and other boxes. Looking out the window, he could see the lopsided structure of the San Francisco Bridge.

He was at Alcatraz still, or at least, in an abandoned vehicle on the bridge that now led to the little prison island. The yelling and shouts came from the men and women rushing by the vehicles in helmets and goggles, brandishing guns of a sort. They seemed too occupied to look into the back of the supposedly empty vehicle of some human who had the smarts to get away from the mutant battlefield. He noticed the light pattering noise was from the rain that fell down onto the metal roof.

Pyro covered himself back up, sparing a brief moment to wonder just who had taken the time to dump him and had the decency to cover him up too. He knew it had to be one of those damned X-Men; he seriously doubted his own would have thought of it. Survival of the fittest and all. He would have done the same, leaving them there. He realized he didn't care – or at least, didn't want to find out – who had done it. He would owe no one any favours.

He listened to the rain, and started to work out a plan to get off this damned bridge and as far away from San Francisco as possible. If there was anyone left alive and still free, he would rendezvous with them later.

 

 **[ I.ii ]**

Catching sight of his reflection on the blank computer screen, Pyro could see he certainly didn't look what he had five months earlier. As soon as he hitched out of California in the back of some unsuspecting person's truck, he had gone undercover. The blond spikes which he had loved so - despite Mystique's teasing and mocking - had been dyed dark brown and flattened down, and had grown out a bit. He had tried to grow in a beard but it didn't turn out right, just thin and patchy and scrubby looking. He might be in hiding, but he wasn't about to let himself walk around looking like a bum.

Frankly, he looked a bit like that greasy teenaged punk that had showed up at Xavier's with no where else to go rather than the clean-cut mutant activist he'd become, and that's what bothered him the most. He only had a few clothes which he'd stolen, some jeans, t-shirts, a hoodie, and a worn black blazer with patches on the elbows - but at least, with the overall look, he easily passed as a poor college student and could move about without anyone's concern.

Which meant that, on this very early morning in some college town, no one gave him a second thought as he flipped on the computer in the coffee shop. It was a quick stop he had to make on his way out of town in his stolen car, to see if the rumours he'd been hearing in the mutant underground over the past week were true.

 

 _According to the US authorities, five crates of the serum commonly known as the "mutant cure" in its needle weapon form are unaccounted for. It is not clear if they went missing before, during, or after the mutant attack on Alcatraz, and the situation only came to light recently. It is believed the weapons are being illegally sold to various individuals and organizations, including anti-mutant groups. Mutants are cautioned to remain on guard._

 

Pyro sat in front of the computer screen, eyes fixated on the article, the index finger of his right hand tapping lightly on the top of the mouse as he processed the information. He was not surprised by it, but realized that he'd have to alter his current strategy to keep ahead of the game.

Travel by air was near impossible with the documentation needed nowadays to get on flights. Pyro was having a fine time staying hidden, and he could probably get fake documents, but it was a huge risk he wasn't sure he should take. Not yet, anyway. Boarder crossings by land were easier, but still very difficult to do without getting caught. The Canadian and Mexican authorities were playing friendly with the US government when it came to bringing mutant criminals to justice; most likely because of the illegal activities discovered (too late, of course) that the Brotherhood had been involved in. But boarder crossing was still an option, a difficult one, but easier than trying to fly out of the country.

Up to this point, Pyro had been all over the United States, traveling as inconspicuously as possible from place to place, not stirring up trouble, no matter how many opportunities had been presented for him to do just that. Mostly, he situated himself in the Midwest moving around from town to town in the different states in a pattern that would appear to an observer as random. Pyro had a calculated plan though, every move thought out thoroughly in advance.

He knew that returning to Magneto was a no-go; the X-Men had effectively neutered Magneto in a low blow attack. Magneto had been captured immediately following the Alcatraz battle, and had been taken to prison to face charges for his crimes against humanity. Even if Pyro had wanted to waltz in there and break him out he knew he couldn't. It wasn't an operation he could accomplish on his own - besides, he wasn't sure he wanted to. Magneto had left Mystique when she'd been turned human; therefore, Pyro knew he should feel no remorse in doing the same thing to Magneto. What was a young fugitive mutant supposed to do with a powerless old man, anyway?

With his energetic and brilliant lawyer - who _must_ have been a Brotherhood sympathizer - Erik Lensherr's trial had been quick. Through loopholes and a series of legal manoeuvres that the US legal system was probably appalled by, he had been deemed a harmless old man whose dangerous qualities had been stripped away, whose actions were motivated by his horrid experiences as a child during the Holocaust (always a matter of sympathy). Despite the loud public outcry from humans and mutants alike, he was now put up in a secure and guarded halfway house. Pyro even read an online article that said that Magneto had been reduced to nothing more than an old man in a hat who was allowed outings (under heavily surveillance) to the park to play chess. He was no longer a threat to anyone.

Pyro thought the humans and other mutants were mindless idiots to believe that the man, though now just a human, who had once led the Brotherhood was or could ever be 'no longer a threat.' But there was absolutely nothing Pyro could do for Erik Lensherr; he had to think about himself. He seriously doubted he would get lucky enough to obtain a lawyer who was able to get him a light slap on the wrist, seeing as how he would be still be considered a dangerous mutant.

Much along that line of thinking: he still had his own mutation to protect.

This whole missing 'cure' situation had elevated the danger factor, and he knew he wasn't in the position to deal with it on his own; he'd leave it to the X-Geeks to pick up the mess the humans made. It was probably all their fault, anyway.

One advantage of Pyro's was that the authorities really had no record of who was involved in the Alcatraz attack, and most importantly, who was disintegrated into little floating bits by Phoenix. It was why he hadn't been able to meet up with anyone else; other than the X-Men, any mutants who were involved in the battle were keeping their identities hidden to avoid prosecution, or else they were dead. He knew that had attributed to the fact that he had been able to evade the authorities for five months with no trouble; they didn't know to be looking for him. However, Pyro also knew he had one major disadvantage: _someone_ had shoved him into that SUV. Someone knew he was alive, or at least, had been at the end of the battle. He could easily wager a guess as to who that might be, but he really had no proof. It didn't seem as though that person had come forward as of yet, but he or she still could.

Pyro figured it was safest to situate himself as close to the boarder as possible to come up with a plan that would quickly get him out of the country at the drop of a dime if so needed. Things down south were still a little heated, so Pyro had decided that his best bet was to head north. He would cautiously investigate the contacts the Brotherhood had had in Canada and see where that got him.

Pyro flipped off the computer and stood up from the little table, pushing his chair in. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he strolled out of the internet café with a practiced nonchalance, drawing no attention to himself whatsoever. He had lived in the underground, moving amongst civilians, for near two years under Magneto's tutelage before the Brotherhood came out of hiding and made its big move. Pyro was well-trained in flying under the radar, and he knew that was precisely what he needed to do to make it out of this sticky situation in one piece, and with his mutation intact.

 

 **[ I.iii ]**

Things had not gone quite as planned, Pyro mused humourlessly to himself as his arms where being pinned in awkwardly and painfully behind his back, blood dripping down from his nose.

It had been a surprise attack. Well, Pyro had been surprised by the attack, though it seemed that the attackers knew exactly what they were doing. He figured they had been tracking him since the previous week, when he had that unfortunate incident that incriminated his powers. He had been in Idaho, just outside the Washington state boarder, and heading up to meet contacts that would be able to get him into Canada via Vancouver Island. It had only been a small fire, contained and safe, to cause a distraction at one end of a parking lot while he stole a car at the other. He hadn't even used his powers for it, just a lighter to set newspaper aflame, which he dropped in a wastebasket.

His plan had a spell of bad luck when the fire hit some leaked gas and a car blew up. Pyro had taken off right away and headed in the opposite direction than he wanted to be going, zig-zagging back across the country. Along the way, he'd ditched and stolen different cars, and taken buses from time to time. He was absolutely livid about the whole situation, but he was trying hard to stay unnoticed. He kept his ears and eyes open, paying careful attention to whether or not the incident was being blamed on him, but he hadn't heard a damn thing. He thought he had cleared out scot-free.

As a fist hit his jaw, he realized he'd been wrong about that. He struggled against the rough, tight grips, trying to rip his arms free, but two muscular men had pinned him effectively. His person had already been searched, pockets emptied and lighters taken away. These guys had done their homework, knew who he was. They must have known the only way to disable him would be to catch him off guard and isolate him from his power. He'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit the precision and accuracy of their attack was disconcerting.

"How you like that, eh, mutie?" asked the big one that stood in front of him throwing the punches. "Think you can just come into our town and set things on fire, do you?"

Pyro didn't say anything, he wouldn't give these lowly humans the satisfaction of it. He just leaned forward and spit out blood onto the other man's combat boot, earning himself a punch to the stomach. He gasped and coughed, but let out a low chuckle.

A new voice greeted him, something oddly familiar about it. "Let me have a go at him."

Pyro glanced up sharply, looking at the speaker. He drew in a quick breath, though he concealed his surprise. He knew this boy; the features where sharper, harder, and noticeably older than they had been a couple of years ago, but the intense hatred was much the same. He was younger than the others, younger than Pyro himself, but obviously committed to what he was doing in being here.

"A go at me? Didn't realize that was a trait that ran in the family," Pyro said, lip curling into a sneer.

The insult was matched with a sharp backhand across the face and a knee to the stomach. Pyro doubled over in pain, crumpling to his knees, but his captures just followed him to the ground, not letting go. He didn't struggle anymore, didn't try to get free. He remained completely still and concentrated. He searched the surrounding area hard, reaching out with his mind and mutation, for that small spark that would bring fire to him.

"You think I'd let you do that again, do you?" the teenager said, his smile dark and vengeful.

"I won't even pretend to know what you would do, Drake," Pyro said, looking up at him.

Ronny Drake, that little snot-nosed brother of his former friend, stared down at him, the loathing pouring off in waves. "Oh, I don't think you have to pretend, mutie. I think you just know." Without taking his gaze off Pyro, he held out his arm to the side, his hand opened demandingly. Pyro's heart started thudding rapidly as he saw the black gun placed in that hand by one of the goons, and he couldn't stop the icy chill of fear spreading through his stomach as Ronny pointed it at his chest.

"You have no idea how happy doing this to you will make me," Ronny drawled, grinning maniacally. "You tore my family apart."

"No, Drake. _You_ tore it apart."

The grin fell from the boy's face and his only answer was the pull of a trigger.

 

**[ INTERLUDE I ]**

Bobby knocked on the hotel door and opened it when he heard a muffled and gruff _Come in_. Entering the room, he found Logan sitting at the small table with a beer in hand, flipping through a newspaper even though there was a pile of files resting nearby that he was supposed to be getting through before they reported back to Storm. Paperwork was Logan's least favourite thing to do for the Institute, it seemed.

"Warm beer tastes like piss," Logan said conversationally as Bobby walked further into the room.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Bobby replied casually, dropping himself in the seat across from Logan and grabbing a beer out of the box on the table. He twisted off the cap and was about to take a sip when it was deftly stolen from his hand.

"No, I don't think you do, kid," Logan said without looking up. "You're too young."

Bobby just gave a small grin. "I'll make them cold if you let me have one."

Both bottles were immediately handed over to him. "You drive a hard but fare bargain, Drake."

Bobby iced them up and handed one back to Logan, who took a deep swig and sighed happily. Logan then continued to read his paper without saying anything else. Bobby sat with his head tilted back and stared up at the ceiling, taking small sips of his beer. He didn't even really want it now that he could have it.

Silence filled the room, but it wasn't awkward; Bobby figured they were both appreciative of the break. He couldn't even remember what city they were in now, but they had been traveling around all week, meeting with people for the school and promoting the new Center. Logan was there because Wolverine was quite well known and famous now, and Bobby was along to be the one that didn't scare everyone else. It was because of his sweet, soft look, Storm had said - but that wasn't exactly something Bobby wanted to hear. However, standing next to Logan, anyone could be compared as such so he didn't really mind too much. Admittedly, they were quite a good balance and worked well together. It had been a good business trip thus far.

Only this wasn't the week that Bobby wanted to be out. Or the month, for that matter. There was too much on his mind, and all he wanted was to be back at the Institute and taking a break from everything. He sighed when he thought about it.

"Something on your mind, Iceman?"

Bobby looked over and saw Logan watching him; his face was blank, not expectant but purely observational. Bobby didn't really want to talk about it, and he knew Logan wouldn't push. He just shrugged. "Not really."

"Okay." Leaving it at that, Logan went back to his reading.

A few moments later, Bobby sighed again. Maybe he did want to talk about it - or at least, say something to get it off his mind and move on. "It's Rogue."

Logan paused briefly in the middle of turning a page, but then continued on as if nothing were wrong. "Oh?" he asked, almost too casually.

"Yeah."

"I thought you guys haven't spoken for a couple of weeks."

Bobby didn't need to ask him how he knew that. Bobby bit on his lower lip and suddenly wished he went with his first instinct of not talking about it. It was too late now, he supposed. "Almost a month, actually. That's the problem."

"Oh."

"One of the problems, anyway."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. She left me for a mutant."

"She did not."

"A French mutant."

"He's Cajun."

"Whatever."

"And she's not dating that guy."

"She's going to."

"Maybe. Maybe not. They're just working together at the Center right now." Logan looked at Bobby, his face devoid of any sympathy or coddling - that wasn't his style. "Things happen. People change. They move on. It takes more than being able to touch someone to make a relationship work."

"That's what she said," Bobby muttered, wincing at the bitterness in his voice. That wasn't really _his_ own style, but he couldn't help it right now. He was tired and lonely, and he must be going a bit crazy with only Logan for company the past week. "It's just… I tried, you know? I tried to make it work. I thought I did, anyway."

"It takes two." It was said really quietly, and sort of sadly, and Bobby didn't bother asking for elaboration because he knew all he'd get was a claw through the beer bottle.

"Yeah."

Again they fell silent, and Bobby returned his gaze to the ceiling as Logan went back to reading his paper. Their little talk hadn't help Bobby one bit, and all he could think about was trying to get his ex-girlfriend off his mind. It wasn't working.

"Here, I'll help you with these," he said suddenly, grabbing the top file off the stack.

Logan looked up in surprise and his hand quickly snatched out. "No, you don't have to-"

Bobby moved the file out of reach. "No, really. It's fine. I need to do something, you know? To keep my mind off things," Bobby said, flipping open the file folder. He froze suddenly as a familiar face peered up at him out of a blurred, grainy photograph that was paper clipped to the inside of the file.

"Bobby-"

"He's alive?" Bobby swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

"Yeah."

"And you knew this?" Bobby asked, looking accusingly at Logan.

Logan met his gaze steadily. "We've been tracking him a couple weeks. Look, Bobby-"

"And you thought not to tell me?" Bobby looked away from Logan, anger boiling up. He quickly flipped through the file, though he wasn't taking in any of the information - he was too angry, and oddly relieved at the same time. "I thought he was … After I knocked him out. I thought I'd left him there to die."

"Apparently not."

Bobby looked up sharply. "Did you …?" He let his voice trail off but he knew Logan understood what he was asking.

"No, Bobby. I was a bit busy at the time."

"Right. Sorry." And he really did feel sorry, but he was also sort of mad at the same time. How could they decide not to tell him that his former friend – turned enemy – turned victim – was still alive?

Out of everything that happened at Alcatraz, the fact that he might have been responsible for someone – even John – losing their life had weighed heavily on him. But he never told anyone that, not even Rogue, so it was quite possible they all just thought they were protecting him or something by not saying anything, or some other ridiculous rational.

Quickly scanning the sheet that documented the brief sightings of John over the past few weeks, Bobby realized something. He grabbed it but dropped the rest of the file, sheets and newspaper clippings spilling out onto the table, some slipping to the floor. Bobby paid that no mind, focusing on the paper in front of his eyes. "It's a pattern," he muttered to himself, looking over the names of the places. Bars or pubs, mostly, with notes that there had been brawls that had taken place while John was there. Bobby wondered if John had been the one that started them; he wouldn't be surprised if he was.

"What? No it's not," Logan protested, snatching the paper out of Bobby's hands to look at it. "We analyzed the thing over and over. There's no-"

"There's a pattern," Bobby confirmed, nodding firmly. "If you know John, really know him, you see it." With that, he snatched the paper back and stood up, striding to the door. He wasn't at all surprised to find Logan moving swiftly to block his way.

"Bobby, that's not a good idea. You don't know-"

"I'm just going outside to get some air, clear my head." Bobby knew he didn't sound convincing, and he didn't think Logan bought it, but after a moment, the older mutant just inclined his head and stepped aside.

Bobby had to find John. Once and for all, he had to end this thing. Or at least bring the firestarting mutant to proper justice for his crimes. It was the least he could do, Bobby thought to himself, to try to make things right.

 

**[ ACT II ]**

 

 **[ II.i ]**

John sat at the bar hunched over his drink, the fingers of one hand casually drumming the worn wood while the other gripped the neck of a beer bottle purchased with his stunningly made fake ID. His clothes had gotten more worn and shabby than he'd like, and to a casual observer, he'd appear like a young man slightly on the down and outs, just trying to have a quiet drink. Shaggy, greasy hair fell forward over his face, and it easily concealed alert eyes that were observing everything and everyone while he made his plans.

At one end of the bar there was a smaller guy, a yuppie in a nice suit, with a big mouth loudly bad-talking mutants. On the other end of the bar, there was a big bald guy with a bad moustache who seemed very quiet, but he had an anti-mutant shirt on.

When the mouthpiece at the end of the bar made a loud, obnoxious cry of approval for the Vigilantes, John knew that he would be the target for the evening.

He pushed his beer away from him, almost none of it gone, and hopped down from his bar stool. He walked casually over to where the jukebox was, dropping in a quarter and made it appear like he was cruising through the songs, though he was staring intently at the back of his target. John pushed a button at random and turned to walk back to the bar, preparing to get into an argument that was undoubtedly going to end in a brawl.

He paused for a moment when someone new entered the nearly empty pub, and he could feel his eyes widen, just a little. "Shit," he muttered to himself, and walked right past the obnoxious mutant-hater.

Bobby Drake stood there, eyes scanning the sparse crowd, only to land on John. If Bobby seemed at all shocked to find John there, he didn't look it. Figures, John thought to himself, that of all the X-Men who could have found him, it would be Bobby. John was a little surprised that it took this long, but he must have given Bobby more credit than he thought.

John walked towards Bobby, the taller young man becoming visibly tense, almost anxious. He opened his mouth to say something, and then snapped it shut as John sidestepped around him and brushed right passed, not saying a word. John returned to his beer, this time taking a real swig of it. The unwanted presence of an X-Man – this one in particular – drove John to drink.

Bobby sat down at the bar, not next to John but with one stool between the two, and ordered a drink. The bartender seized him up, squinting his eyes suspiciously, and asked for ID. John thought this would be the end of his X-Men problems but was surprised Bobby pulled out a fake ID to flash; John hadn't thought that Drake had the balls to pull off something illegal, but then again, he was still a minor too, so maybe he did. Maybe he just had some government sanction pass or some shit like that for being a bona fide hero that got him drinks at bars.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each acutely aware of the other but neither making the first move. Finally, Bobby spoke, his voice as soft and sweet as honey, like it had always been. "I went to four different bars tonight, looking for you. I know where you've been, but I'm not sure where you're going."

"You have no idea where I've been, Drake," John muttered, still looking forward. He refused to look at Bobby, so he sneered at his drink instead.

Glancing up at the mirror over the back of the bar, John could see that Bobby had turned toward him, looking thoughtful. This actually surprised John; after all that had gone down between them, John thought that Bobby would hate him by now. Maybe he did but was just better at covering it up now or something.

"I knew enough to find you," Bobby answered. "Not that you were very subtle about it."

"Subtlety has never been my strong suit," John said smugly.

"It was until three weeks ago, apparently."

John didn't say anything. He wasn't going to explain himself, not to Bobby. He wasn't going to say that he finally figured out something to do with his pathetic human existence. He just took another sip of his beer and remained silent.

"You know what?" Bobby asked, but he continued, not expecting an answer. "I'm tired. I'm nineteen years old, and I'm so tired. Does that make sense to you?"

John had no fucking clue what Bobby meant, and couldn't help but look over in his direction. Bobby was now staring down at his drink as if it had all the answers and all he had to do was ask for them.

John moved his hand toward his pants pocket, but he gasped and pulled it back when a blast of ice-cold air hit it. Glaring over at Bobby, he saw the other man was still looking down at his drink though his hand was pointed in John's direction.

"I said I was tired, not stupid," Bobby said calmly.

"Think again, Drake," John said. At that moment, the large hand of the big bald guy clasped Bobby's shoulder, and Bobby looked over in surprise; John had noticed him stalking over to them before Bobby pulled his big hero attitude. He used that distraction to grab the switchblade from his pocket as he had intended. Quick as lightning and with practiced skill, that knife was thrown and caught in the shoulder of the big bald guy, who let go of Bobby as he stumbled back howling.

"You should be careful which bar you go into, Iceman. That pretty face of yours is well known now," John said, habitual smirk in place as Bobby looked in horror at the man with a blade stuck in him. Some patrons gathered around to help him while others looked at the pair of them with anger. John continued, "You should stay away from anti-mutant bars."

"What about you, _Pyro_?" Bobby asked, turning back to John. "Just on a kamikaze mission?"

John's lips twisted in a smile, though it was cold and hard, at hearing his old mutant name. So the great famous mutant Iceman didn't know. John wasn't sure what inspired him to do so, but he decided to fill the idiot in. "There's only one mutant in this bar and I'm looking at him," John said. The look of utter surprise on Bobby's face was worth giving up the information; besides, it wouldn't be long before he figured it out. And John knew exactly what would be the perfect addition. "You have your vigilante teenaged brother to thank for that one."

John spared a very quick moment to drink in the mixed look of shock and guilt that washed over Bobby's face before John made his escape. He'd leave the hero to clean up the mess.

 

 **[ II.ii ]**

Another pub, another night. John's eyes passed over the crowd, but he couldn't seem to focus. Damn that Bobby Drake, throwing him off his game. He hadn't even seen the mutant for nearly a week, but no matter where he went, John couldn't help but keep a look out for him. John tried not to, honestly tried, but it was like his damned subconscious wouldn't let it go.

He knew it was best if he didn't run into him anymore, though. Next time he did, Bobby would most likely have a whole crew of X-Men in tow, and John would end up in jail. It was really the last thing he wanted. He decided not to go about his business, not to get in any more brawls, beat the crap out of some unsuspecting mutant hater. At least, not for a little while, not until he knew Drake would be out of his hair for good.

Looking over at one end of the bar, he saw a man – a bit older than himself, but John had never minded that - looking him up and down appreciatively. John knew exactly who he could do to get Bobby off his mind.

John got up from his barstool and looked over to where the good-looking man with the blond hair and bright blue eyes sat, still checking him out. John had a predatory smirk on his face, his hands in his pockets as he started to saunter over to the other man.

Of course, he stopped dead in his tracks when none other than Bobby Drake walked into the bar. Fuck that idiot and his bad timing.

Bobby's eyes gazed around, taking in the pub and its patrons. John scowled angrily, hands curling into fists, wanting to let that mutant know exactly what he thought of him, but those eyes passed right over him as if he wasn't there. Bobby walked over to a booth and slipped into it.

John stalked over to it angrily and sat across from Bobby. "What are you doing here, Drake?" he demanded.

Bobby looked up at him with fake surprised. "Why, hello, John."

"Cut the crap," John snapped at him. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to order a drink," Bobby said, smiling a sickening sweet smile at the waitress that had walked up to their booth. "A Budwiser, please. Oh, and a hamburger?"

She flashed him a bright smile and asked John if he'd like anything. Despite his growling stomach, he waved his hand dismissively, grunting angrily. She looked disgruntled, and as she walked away, Bobby scolded John. "She better not spit in my burger because of you."

John ignored that. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Bobby shrugged. "What? Is it illegal to get a drink?"

"Actually, yes, you minor moron," John hissed contemptuously.

"I'm four months older than you, so I'm being four months less illegal than you are," Bobby said casually. He spoke as if the past few years hadn't happened, as if John had never left the Institute and they were still a couple of teenaged boys bantering back and forth after class.

John hated that.

"This isn't even a blip on the radar of my illegal activities," said John, giving a wry, mean smile. As intended, it smacked that little good-natured grin right off Bobby's face.

Bobby nodded sullenly. "And is that why you're here tonight?" he asked seriously.

John smiled and nodded over to the guy at the bar, who was now watching the two of them. "Actually, I plan on taking that guy to the men's room and giving him the blow job of his life, and getting one in return."

John had said it mostly to get a rise out of Bobby, to see a stunned reaction. It was actually _John_ who was stunned by _Bobby's_ reaction. He merely looked over at the guy, and back at John, shrugging. "Doesn't seem your type. I thought you liked them bigger, with more muscle." John's jaw dropped and Bobby laughed. "As I've recently said, you're not exactly subtle."

John couldn't stop that sardonic laugh that bubbled out of him. " _Superior_ , _sapiens_ \- I've always carried the homo around." He drew himself upright and lifted his chin confidently, defensive. "You got a problem with that?"

"Believe me, out of all the things, _that_ is not my problem with you, John," Bobby replied dryly. But then Bobby became more serious. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

John tensed up, but replied blandly with a shrug, "Whatever. You didn't do anything."

"Yeah, I did," Bobby insisted.

"You weren't the Drake that pulled the trigger, Bobby."

"No, not about that. Though I am sorry," he added quickly as John raised an eyebrow at him. "I meant I'm sorry I left you on that rock to die."

John cocked his head to the side, sneering. This was not what he had expected. "You left me?"

Bobby nodded, the guilt plainly visible on his face.

"Then who … No, wait," John said, putting up his hands. "I don't want to know."

"And I can't tell you, because I don't know," Bobby said honestly.

"Whatever," John repeated. All this disconcerted him - the information, Bobby's presence, his apology. "You're just here because you're a selfish bastard who doesn't want to feel bad anymore."

"Yeah, probably," Bobby admitted, grinning as John's jaw dropped the second time in the conversation. "But it doesn't make my apology any less true, you know."

John just shrugged again. "Are we done here?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I have to head out, anyway. Flying into Boston for some, uh. Family business."

John tensed up again, body and eyes alert as he searched Bobby's face for the answer he expected. "You don't have to, you know. For me."

Bobby shook his head. "Believe me, this isn't for you."

John snorted, "Yeah." He got up from the table and started to walk away. Suddenly, and almost involuntarily because he couldn't explain the reasoning to himself, he paused and turned around. "It's not muscles, you know. It's blue eyes."

It was Bobby's turn to drop his jaw, and John had to push away the dirty thoughts that suddenly jumped into his mind. He scowled and turned around, walking away from Bobby before he could say anything. Only sparing a wink at the man at the bar as he walked by, John went into the bathroom.

He was a little disappointed to find it was actually that man who followed him into the bathroom a minute later. But not nearly as much as when John exited, his physical high dropping when all he saw was an empty booth with an uneaten hamburger platter and a stack of bills placed beside it.

 

 **[ II.iii ]**

John zipped up his fly and washed his hands, double-checking his hair in the mirror. It was shorter again, more so than it had been in the past year, and it suited him much better. His clothes were still a bit worn, but clean and smelled like Mountain Fresh fabric softener. He'd spent the day before at the Laundromat flipping through magazines and watching the news as his clothes were being washed. It had been a quiet, relaxing day after a night getting into a brawl that left him bruised and hurting, but he felt better than he had in months. Tonight, John figured, was a good night to go out again, as he'd only been in this new city for a couple of days. Lots of places to go, lots of mutant-haters to beat.

He left the bathroom and went into the main area of the shabby motel room with its faded wallpaper and water stained ceilings, and grabbed his coat and the keys. Throwing open the door, he was surprised to find Bobby standing there, hand held up as if he were just about to knock.

"What are you doing here?" John asked, throwing off an indifferent attitude, when in fact he was curious. He didn't think he'd ever see Bobby again after he left the pub a few weeks ago.

Bobby dropped his hand to his side. "It's much easier to pick up the phone, you know, to let me know where you are. You can stop with the bar brawls."

John smirked at him. "Maybe I like the bar brawls."

Bobby's hand reached out to touch the side of John's face, where there was a large bruise that circled around the deep cut, but John flinched away and scowled at him. "I don't doubt that," Bobby said softly.

"It's not a cry for help, Bobby, so why are you even here? To save me?" John sneered at him. "Because I don't want it and I don't need it."

"Can I come in?" Bobby asked, passing over John's inquiries. Nor did he wait for an answer, just brushing past John. Bobby stopped in the middle of the room, glancing around. "This is … nice."

"It's a hole," John replied flatly.

"Yeah, well …" Bobby trailed off, and then looked at John, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

John sighed and rolled his eyes at the patheticness of the Great and Powerful Iceman being nervous in the room with a _human_. "Spit it out, Drake."

"Come back with me."

John stared at him blankly, blinking twice. Then he laughed out loud, the first real and honest laugh he had in months. "Excuse me? Back? Back to _what_?" John controlled the laughter, and it quickly churned in his stomach, only to bubble back out as anger. "The Institute? The fucking X-Men?" he bit out sarcastically.

"No," Bobby said, shaking his head. "They wouldn't accept you."

John laughed incredulously. "Then where the fuck would I go back to? Not that I want to, mind you, but I have no clue what the hell you are talking about. I don't think you do either, Bobby."

"Of course I do," he said simply, as if it were _John_ being the idiot. "You could come back and stay at the Center."

"The Mutant Rehabilitation Center?" John asked, chuckling bitterly and humourlessly. "The place where castrated ex-mutants go to get in touch of their inner human?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it that way, but yeah."

"Hell no." John looked at Bobby, shaking his head angrily. "You're kidding me, right? I can't go there."

"Of course you could," Bobby insisted. "It's for all sorts of people who used to be mutants. You know, ones that chose it, and others who didn't," Bobby said in a rush of words, pausing only long enough to give John a significant look. "It's to help cope, help adjust, and to help these people start up a new life."

"You sound like a billboard advertisement. Got a good job doing the X-Men PR, do you?"

Bobby continued, ignoring him. "It's a safe place, and you can stay there as long as you need."

"As long as I talk to some fucking quack about my feelings."

"You have to attend therapy, yes. But lots of other stuff happens, too. You could get your high school diploma, learn a trade. Anything, really. You could start a new life."

"I have a life, thanks."

Bobby looked dubiously around the room then back at John, looking him up and down, right from the hole in the cuff of his pants to the little rip in the collar of his t-shirt. He raised an eyebrow. "This is a life?"

"Piss off, Bobby," John spat at him. "I didn't choose this but I'm dealing with it."

"By trying to beat up all the world's mutant-haters? Yeah, that's one heck of a life," said Bobby sarcastically.

John just sighed and shook his head. "Bobby, don't kid yourself," he started. "I'm a criminal, and a wanted man. I can't just wander in there with a big fucking smile plastered on my face and ask them to fix me."

"The place is for mutants too, you know," Bobby argued. "Ones that have misused their powers at some point, ones that want help and direction in overcoming that life, wanting to move past it. There are mutants in there that have done far worse than you."

"That's either a lie, or you good and plenties are a bunch of mindless morons."

"They are under surveillance and have restrictions, yes, but they know full well what they are getting into. They're there because they want to be."

"That's the difference between them and me, I guess. I don't want it."

"Why not?" Bobby implored, big confused blue eyes blinking at John. "It's a second chance."

"I had a second chance already, one that I chose, Bobby. It was called the Brotherhood and it got decimated by suppression weapons and a crazy killing mutant on Alcatraz." John shook his head vehemently. "The Center is just an outreach program of the Institute, and of the X-Men. I chose a long time ago to leave them and I'm not crawling back."

"This is ridiculous!" Bobby exclaimed in baffled anger, throwing his arms out to the side. "You're being stubborn, John. Just come back."

"No chance in hell."

"Why are you doing this?" Bobby asked. He was loosing, so to speak, his cool. Bobby, who John had always thought was so calm and collected, was really becoming quite agitated with him. It only made John want to anger him further.

"Why the hell do you care, anyway?"

"Why?" Bobby exclaimed. He grabbing the front of John's ragged shirt and pushed him hard against the wall. "Why do I care?"

John reached up and gripped Bobby's wrists, though he didn't try to push him away or struggle against him. Adrenaline ran hot through his blood, and as usual, he was getting a rush from the thought of a fight. He just wanted to irk Bobby on some more. "Yeah, why? I'd just be one less pathetic human to deal with."

"Don't say that!" Bobby yelled, shaking John so hard his head thudded against the wall behind him. John only laughed darkly. "Don't ever say that. If you keep this up, you're going to end up dead again."

"Again?"

Bobby let go of him immediately, as if all the fight and anger he had in him had slipped away. He backed away, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then placed both hands on his hips. He looked down at his shoes and refused to look John in the eye.

"What do you mean, again?" John asked again, stepping forward and pushing on Bobby's shoulder. Bobby let him, stumbling back a couple of footsteps. "What do you mean?"

"You weren't … I thought ... you shouldn't die, John," Bobby said, his soft voice filling the otherwise quiet room. "I couldn't handle this again, not if you did, not if I didn't try."

John laughed sardonically and threw his hands up in the air. "Oh, I get it. This isn't for me - this is to keep your conscious guilt free, isn't it? You're still being a selfish prick."

Bobby didn't lift his head but he glanced up to meet John's eyes. John was startled by their intensity. "Yeah," Bobby said, one corner of his mouth tugging up slightly. "I guess I am."

Bobby took a quick step toward John and grabbed the front of his shirt and John found himself thudding up against the wall again; however, he was thrown off guard to find Bobby pressing cold, chapped lips against his. John wasn't sure what took over him - he didn't stop to think, but kissed him back with a pent-up ferocity. Nothing about their kissing was gentle; it was a harsh mash of nipping and biting, but it seemed what they both needed.

Next thing John knew, they were both on the bed, divested of their shirts. They were a tangle of limbs and clashing teeth, tongues, and mouths. It was only when it came to removing their pants that Bobby showed any uncertainty but John wasn't about stop. He took the lead confidently and showed Bobby how things where done. As always.

Afterward, John lay on the bed staring up at the ceiling. The room was filled with the odd combination smell of sex and sweat and mothballs. Bobby was on his stomach, naked with only a worn sheet drawn over his midsection. His face was buried in the pillow, but his arm was drawn possessively over John's stomach. John had almost expected a major freak-out when they had finished, but Bobby had just fallen asleep; he hadn't been lying when he'd said he was tired.

So John just left him alone there in the bed, and closed his eyes to try to get some shut-eye himself. They'd deal with the aftermath in the morning. Maybe.

 

**[ INTERLUDE II ]**

Rogue looked around her old room at the Institute, the one that she'd left nearly a year ago. As he promised, Logan hadn't let Storm assign anyone else to it. He said she'd always have a place here at Xavier's, that she'd always belong, no matter what. Now, more than ever, she really did belong here.

She dropped her bag on the bed and quietly left the room; it was late and there seemed to be no one up and about in the mansion. She hadn't wanted to see anyone right away anyway, just wanted to settle in a bit, but there was one person she wouldn't mind talking to first. She snuck down the stairs and toward the kitchen, expecting to find him there.

She was right. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed in front of her, and smiled as she silently watched Logan hunched over a paper, pencil in hand as he scribbled away. He suddenly growled, grabbed a multi-coloured eraser shaped in a heart and scrubbed hard at the paper; she had to bite her lip to keep in her giggle.

Without even looking up, he muttered, "I'm not doing this paperwork for your amusement, you know."

"Maybe not, but I do find it funny," she said, pushing herself off the doorframe and walking over to the table, then dropping herself into the chair across from him. She picked up the eraser he had thrown aside in anger. "Nice. Very … manly."

"One of the younger students gave it to me after class," he said gruffly, still scribbling away. "As a thank you for not, and I quote, 'whipping out the claws and scaring the piss out of her'."

Rogue laughed. "Good to hear your students have taken a liking to you. But I thought you taught self-defence and stuff like that. What are you marking?"

"Not marking. Filling out a report for Storm." He swore under his breath and leaned over, stealing the eraser out of her hand. "She says if I fill out one more wrong, she's going to fire me and then strike me with a bolt of lightning. Not necessarily in that order."

"How many times ago was that?"

"Six." He looked up at her, mouth quirked into that half-smile of his. "Good to see you, Marie."

"Rogue," she said instantly. "It's Rogue now. Or again. Whatever."

His grin dropped and he looked seriously at her, watching her carefully. "Yeah. How you feelin' anyway?"

She shrugged. "All right. Just a few minor headaches, felt nauseous once or twice. Worse than some, better than others."

"That's not what I meant."

"Yeah, I know," she said quietly. She remained silent for a moment, looking for the right words, and he let her. Finally, she shrugged lightly. "I'm dealing. I'll cope with it, always have."

He just sat there, looking at her, not saying anything. After a moment, he nodded. "Yeah. You'll be fine, Rogue."

It was weird to hear him call her that, having gotten used to everyone calling her Marie. But, in the same token, it felt natural and she knew that every thing really would be fine. Eventually.

"Did you hear how it happened? How I knew when my powers started coming back?"

"I'm not one for gossip, Rogue," he said, but she couldn't help but notice he evaded her question. Still, she wanted to talk to him about it; she needed to talk to someone about it. She knew he'd listen.

"It's when I went on my first real date with Remy," she started.

"That Cajun mutant?"

"Yeah," she affirmed, nodding.

"Didn't realize that you were dating."

"Well, we weren't. Not technically. I mean, flirting and stuff at the Center, but nothing more, you know?" She wasn't sure why, but she wanted him to know that. Just because she _could_ touch anyone she wanted didn't mean that she had. He nodded, and she continued, "But we did go on a date. It was nice, sort of hokey and cheesy, but that's Remy. I was having fun. Anyway, he leaned over and kissed me, and that's when I felt it. I felt my powers. It wasn't as strong as they used to be, but I felt them."

"Did it scare you?" Logan asked cautiously. This surprised Rogue; rarely was anything about Logan cautious, but she supposed he just didn't want to offend her or something.

"At that very moment? Nah. It made me mad. Not because they were coming back, but because Remy was deceiving me."

Logan looked surprised. "What?"

"I'm not sure about what, I couldn't really read what he was thinking when we were touching, but I just sort of sensed it. Just knew."

"What'd you do?"

"Pulled away and slapped him across the face," she said, and couldn't help but grin. The look on Remy's face was priceless, surprised and in a daze, and Rogue didn't think she'd ever forget it.

"What then?" Logan asked reluctantly; it was like he thought it wasn't any of his business, but that he was too curious to let it go. Maybe he was just worried about her.

She frowned. "I was kind of in shock, actually. I ran away, confused. And he never came back to the Center, I never saw him again. He disappeared."

Logan narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Really?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I think he knew, actually, probably felt me pulling on his life force." She waved her hand dismissively. "It's no biggie."

She had enough going on in her head with trying to deal with her mutation coming back; it wasn't easy but she was making herself see it as a positive thing. She wasn't going to let a date gone badly interfere with that. She just … couldn't.

"It might be," Logan said. "We should track him down. Who knows what he's up to? Maybe he was just a spy, getting close to you for information about the X-Men. Maybe he's planning an attack-"

Rogue laughed, holding up her hand to cut him off. "I think you're just going stir crazy, Logan. Been too long without a good battle or something." She grinned when he scowled at her.

"He's obviously not trustworthy," Logan pointed out determinedly, as if not giving in to her notions of him just wanting a fight.

She shrugged. "All I said was it felt like he was lying, Logan. There could be a million reasons for it. He was at the Center for a reason, and although I don't know the details, I do know he has a sketchy past. I think he was in jail once or something. Heck, for all I knew, he's just married and shouldn't have been out on a date."

Logan looked suspicious, not buying it. "Fine," he said reluctantly. "But if I ever see him again, can I at least punch him in the face for messing around with you?"

"Only if I don't first."

"Deal."

They sat for a few minutes in comfortable silence. Logan finishing his paperwork, swearing under his breath from time to time. Rogue sat with her feet up on the chair, knees tucked under her chin, and drew on the table top with the eraser, brushing the little bits away when she wanted to start a new picture. Suddenly, Logan looked up at her with his mouth open, then snapped it shut immediately and looked back down at his paper.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Logan. What?" she inquired more insistently.

He sighed and shook his head. "None of my business, a kid's love life."

"Who, me? Logan, I'm not a kid."

He looked at her and cocked his head to the side, as if really looking at her for the first time. "Yeah," he said doubtfully, as if realizing it but not wanting to believe it.

She rolled her eyes. "Plus, we're supposed to be friends, right? Just ask, you big baby."

She knew it was the last bit that goaded him into opening up. "Did you break up with Bobby for that guy?" Logan asked. Immediately, he sat back and held up his hands. "Don't answer, not my business."

"No, that's not why," she said, ignoring that last request. "I broke up with Bobby a couple months ago, and I just went on a date with Remy last week." She looked up and narrowed her eyes at him. "Why do you think that?"

"I never said I did," Logan said guardedly.

"Then who does?"

"Who do you think?" he retorted, answering her question with one in return.

"Bobby?" Rogue easily guessed. When Logan just pursed his lips together, Rogue knew that was the right answer. "Yeah, that's what he thought when we were breaking up, even though I told him that wasn't true."

"Okay."

"Do you want to know why?" Rogue asked.

"If you want to tell me," Logan said casually, not willing to press her though she had a feeling he did want to know.

"Bobby was different. After Alcatraz, you know. Sure, we were able to be closer physically, but he was so quiet. Guarded. Almost sad." Rogue paused for a moment, thinking back about Bobby, how he acted after the battle. "He wouldn't talk to me about it, I don't know what was wrong with him, and we just drifted a part. It wasn't working between us anymore. It worked much better before, you know. Everything happened."

Logan nodded. "Things happened, a whole lot of people changed."

"Yeah," she said softly. "Is he okay? Bobby, I mean. It's going to be weird to see him tomorrow. I hope things aren't too awkward." That had been one of the things on her mind when she made her decision to come back to the mansion rather than staying to work at the Center.

Logan looked at her seriously, as if deciding if it was his place to say anything. "He's not here right now, actually. You don't have to see him quite yet."

"No? Where is he?"

"Not too sure where he is this time."

"This time?"

"He's been taking a lot of … personal time … lately."

"Yeah, I heard about his brother," Rogue said, starting to pick at the little eraser bits that were sticking to her gloves. "Being busted with vigilante charges. I'm _so_ not surprised."

"No kidding," Logan said, not restraining his sarcasm. Continuing on, his tone softened a little bit and he almost sounded concerned. "Bobby didn't take it so well. Especially since he found out Ronny had gotten John."

Rogue looked up to see Logan biting on his bottom lip, as if he'd accidentally let something out he wasn't supposed to; she knew him better than that and figured he was just feigning mistake. Still, she was surprised by the information. "John? John _Allerdyce_? As in, _Pyro_? I thought he was dead."

"Apparently not."

"From what I gathered, Bobby fought him and knocked him out, so wouldn't he have disintegrated into a million little bits or something?" It was a sad end, Rogue had thought, when she heard about the events that had happened while she had been away. It was part of the reason she found herself eager to have a job at the Center when it opened shortly afterwards; she had wanted to help out however she could in her own way.

"Nope."

"Did Bobby save him without telling us?"

"Nope."

"Well, do we know who did?"

"That is classified information that you'd have to get special clearance to be privy too. Say," he said, raising his eyebrows significantly, "certain mutant politicians?"

"Oh my god, Dr McCoy?" Rogue asked in disbelief, clearly getting Logan's roundabout way of telling her. "Wow. Politicians really do have skeletons in their closets."

"More like guilt."

"So then John's a human now? Or at least, will be for a little while?"

"Yep."

"Huh," Rogue said. Then something crossed her mind. "Is that where Bobby is now? Trying to, I don't know, search for John or something? Bring him back before he becomes a dangerous mutant again?"

"Something like that."

There was something there in Logan's voice, as if he knew more, but Rogue could tell that this was really something he wouldn't discuss further this time. Rogue didn't press him, though; they both knew that no matter how hard Bobby might try, he'd never get John Allerdyce to return, mutant or no. It was a lost cause, but Rogue didn't doubt that kind-hearted Bobby would try whatever he could.

"Think it's time to hit the hay," Logan said, standing up and putting an end to their conversation for the evening. He walked by and dropped his hand briefly on her head; it wasn't a patronizing pat, but more a gesture of friendship, ending with a playful tug on a strand of her white locks. "See you in the morning, lady."

"'Night, Logan," she replied warmly.

'Lady.' At any other time before tonight, it would have been 'kid' or 'kiddo'. It was oddly satisfying to hear that subtle change.

Rogue got up and headed to her own room. She wanted to try to get a good sleep, be well rested. Tomorrow was going to be a long, stressful day, trying to fit back into life at the Institute. She knew it wouldn't be a completely smooth road, trying to rebuild her life as a mutant again. Though if she were being honest with herself, she thought as she slipped into bed and pulled the covers up around her, she felt more at home right now than she had in a long time.

 

**[ ACT III]**

 

 **[ III.i ]**

John sat on the corner of the bed, remote clutched tight in his hand, eyes fixated on the screen. It didn't matter what channel he changed to, the news was all the same. It was scary, and exciting, and fucking _liberating_ all at the same time.

He startled when he heard a knock on his door. The first thought that went through his mind was that the authorities were finally catching up with him and ready to lock him up in case he ever became a dangerous threat again. Getting past that thought, he easily narrowed the list down, and was not at all surprised to find Bobby standing there when he opened the door.

"Can I come in?" Bobby asked. He seemed anxious, nervous as he shifted on his feet. In the near dozen times Bobby had come to John since the first, this was the only one he had appeared uneasy.

"Yeah," John said, opening the door wider to allow the other young man in. He closed it and made sure it was locked up tight, and he knew exactly why Bobby was here. Turning to him, he saw Bobby watching the news.

"So you know," he said.

"Of course," John replied. "You've got to be living under a fucking rock not to have heard the news. Even then, you'd have probably found out somehow."

Bobby turned to him, and John was surprised to see a look of pleading on Bobby's handsome features. "Come back with me," he whispered. "Just … please. Come back, go to the Center, whatever."

In all the times they'd been together, Bobby had never repeated that request to him, not once since he'd first brought it up. It was like all the other things they never talked about – John leaving the school, what he did with the Brotherhood, why Bobby was no longer with Rogue, what happened with or to Ronny, or why they were even doing this; it was just one of those topics that would topple them off the thin high wire they were walking on with this thing they had going. Basically, they didn't talk, they just fucked, and they were fine with leaving it at that. At least, as far as John had known, they had been.

"No," John replied firmly, not sparing Bobby an inch of hope. "I couldn't do that, and you know it."

"Of course you could," Bobby said, though he didn't sound as if he quite believed it himself. "You could, but you have to now. Today. Soon. If not …" Bobby trailed off, looking almost forlorn.

"If not?" John prompted.

Bobby sighed. "If you don't cooperate now, don't show an effort, they aren't going to let you off easier later on."

"We don't even know if it'll come back to me," John put in. "There are no conclusive reports yet. It could have just been a batch gone awry, or it won't come back to everyone, or whatever. There is no guarantee I'm going to be a mutant again. We just don't know."

Except that he did; he could feel it strumming through him, deep under his skin, ready to come back to the surface. He'd already tested it, flicked open a lighter and focused on the flame, and absolutely nothing had happened. But he could feel the want, the need, the restless mutation deep inside its cage, ready to burst free. He knew he shouldn't be reaching like that, should just credit it to wishful thinking, but he wasn't about to give up that hope yet.

The look on Bobby's faced showed the he didn't believe it either, as if he knew Pyro would be back, and that he'd lose John again. "Consider it?" Bobby pleaded in desperation. "Just think about it. Take a day or two. Longer if you need. We can make it work, either way."

"Ah, yes. Being the pathetic human boy toy of an X-Man will have its perks," said John bitterly.

"Don't," Bobby admonished, "don't say it like that." Bobby walked over to John and put his arms around him, pulling him close. John didn't stop him, but he remained tense and rigid; he was used to their touch as quick and frantic and lustful, not gentle and caring.

That's how it was that night - slow and sweet and tender. It seemed like Bobby was trying to show that he'd be there for John, that he was more than just a quick fuck. Or maybe Bobby was just trying to say goodbye.

John gave in and let it happen that way, though he wasn't sure why. Maybe he was trying to, in his own way, give thanks to Bobby. Or maybe it was just Pyro letting John say goodbye, too.

Afterwards, they didn't say a thing, as always, and took their own reasoning to sleep with them.

 

 **[ III.ii ]**

Waking early in the morning, John felt the need to step out and get a bit of air, to get out of the stuffy room. The air felt thick and dense because it was full of thoughts and ideas and too many options. John just wanted to clear his head.

He pulled on pants and a hoodie and stepped out of the motel room, closing the door softly behind him so as not to wake the sleeping mutant in his bed. Being up on the third floor, he walked up to the rusted, black iron railing, and looked down into the cracked and pothole-riddled parking lot. He dug out change from his pants' pocket and rifled through it, counting how much was there, hoping to go get a drink from the vender down on the first floor. John swore under his breath when he saw he didn't have enough.

He nearly dropped all his change when he saw three quarters float in front of his face. "Will this help?" a familiar voice asked, as cold and powerful as John remembered it. The quarters dropped down into the palm of his hand and he swallowed. Looking over to his left, John saw the other man standing there.

Mutant, he corrected himself. For this person standing before him looked much like the blurred photo John has seen in the paper a couple months back, where an old man played chess in a park, but there was no look of defeat on his face any longer. There might not be a cape and dorky helmet, but this was certainly Magneto standing before him.

"Sir," John said, falling into his old habit of respect for his former leader. It seemed natural, no matter how tense and guarded John was at the moment.

Magneto gave a small smile. "Pyro," he returned.

John couldn't help but sneer at that. "No, it's just John, actually." He had no idea how much Magneto knew about him at the moment; probably a lot more than John realized.

Magneto waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, well. Supposedly, I was only Erik a couple weeks ago until I recovered fully. Things do change, of course. How much longer for you, do you expect?"

"If at all?" John said cautiously. "I'm near six months behind. Quite a while yet."

Magneto nodded. "Yes, quite. But worth the wait?"

"Yes, sir," John answered immediately. He knew that was true – he'd wait years, if it meant being a mutant again. Though, of course, he'd hoped it wouldn't be nearly that long. "If I live that long," he added almost as an afterthought.

Magneto's eyebrows rose questioningly. "Do you not expect to?"

"I left you there," John said bluntly. He had no idea whether Magneto was there to recruit him again, or kill him. Neither would be a surprise.

"Yes," Magneto replied simply. "Care to elaborate?"

John knew this was his chance to get out of this alive, or back in Magneto's good graces, or whatever. He sighed deeply, his limbs suddenly weighing him down as if made of lead, and he finally understood why Bobby had said he was tired; John was feeling that way, too. He decided to stick to the simple, straightforward truth rather than weave it into a story of fancy and try to work his way out of it.

"I had to hit the underground, evade the authorities. Nothing I could do for you while you were locked up. Besides, what was a criminal mutant on the run supposed to do with an old human man, anyway? Especially one so notorious." John just shrugged, then pointed to himself, a smile of disgust on his face. "Then this happened. Vigilantes got me, anti-mutant bastards. And what was an old man to do with a powerless teenaged boy?"

"I don't believe you've been a teenaged boy for years, John."

John couldn't help but smile wryly, kicking a stone off the edge of the balcony, watching as it fell below and land in a water-filled pothole. "Guess not." He turned to Magneto and looked him straight in the eyes. "So what now? You goin' to kill me?"

Magneto chuckled quietly. "Should I?"

John shifted uneasily on his feet. "Um, well. I don't know, sir. Aren't you?"

Magneto looked at him steadily. "If you are looking for me to pass judgment on you, I will say that I expect you did everything you thought you could to help yourself. I shall not hold that against you."

John obviously had a look of clear relief on his face as Magneto only smirked at him. A moment later, the mutant's face turned much more serious. "You know why I'm here then?"

"No," John answered honestly. If not to punish him, why _would_ Magneto have come to search him out?

"I'm not the first one today to come and ask you to follow him, yes?" Magneto asked, though he clearly knew the answer.

John's eyes bugged out and he couldn't stop the worried look that crossed his face. So Magneto knew, then, who was in the motel room. He looked away, unable to meet the other man's hard gaze.

"Believe me, John, you are not the first mutant to sleep with someone who has ideological differences."

"I'm not a mutant," replied John instantly, and winced the moment he said the words.

"Don't be foolish, boy," Magneto said harshly. "Of course you are. They tried to take that away but it has become clear that evolution will not be halted. You may be temporarily incapacitated but no one can change who you really are. No one."

John nodded, hearing the truth in the words, and knew it applied on so many levels. He could not help but inquire about Magneto's reason for being there right now. "Are you ordering me to come with you?"

"I am commanding nothing from you. I did not force you the first time; I will not force you now. This is your choice, of course." Magneto pulled something out of his pocket, a piece of paper. He made it float by the paperclip that was attached to it, and John snatched it out of the air. Looking down at it, he saw it had an address written on it, in what he recognized as Magneto's handwriting.

"What's this?"

"You have one hour to go to that address, John. If you wish to rejoin my ranks, you will come."

"But I'm only a … I don't have my mutation right now."

"Perhaps not, but you will. The mutant world will change very quickly, very soon. If you don't come now, John, there is no point in coming later."

John nodded. He had known this, sensed it since the new had broken the morning before. As quickly as the mutant world had been turned upside down, it was about to be altered again.

"That address exists for one hour, John, in the context of joining me. One hour," Magneto repeated. "This gives you plenty of time to make your decision. To walk into that room and say goodbye to your lover. Or to take him and run away, if you so chose."

"What if I told him," John mused aloud suddenly. "What if I went inside and showed him this address, told him what it meant?"

Magneto smiled, cold and hard. "Deliver a lone X-Man to me? Why, that is more like a sign of allegiance, if anything. A true display of loyalty." John involuntarily shuddered at the malice in the words, and Magneto chuckled, holding up his hands. "But certainly not necessary, I am not asking you to do that. Take it from me, it is much easier to betray or harm a former lover than it is to actually kill them."

Now that John knew he wasn't about to be killed, he idly considered asking Magneto to elaborate on that last statement, but then decided he much rather liked his balls right where they were.

Magneto checked his watched, and then inclined his head in parting. "Perhaps I shall be seeing you soon, John." With this, he turned and walked away.

He was only about two steps down the staircase when John called out to him. "Wait." Magneto turned to look at him, not at all surprised. John only shrugged. "I made the decision before you even showed up today."

Magneto smiled, a quick flash of pearly white teeth. "I had thought as much. Come along, then."

For the second time, John left Bobby behind with nothing more than the clothes on his back. He convinced himself that Bobby was prepared for it this time and wouldn't be at all surprised.

 

 **[ III.iii ]**

It was difficult, being a part of the Brotherhood, but not actually being a _part_ of it. Out of the members Magneto had recruited, John was the only one without a mutation. The others knew who he was, had accepted (or at least, understood) why he was there, but John had yet to feel part of the team. He didn't miss the askance glances the others gave each other when he was around, the little comments they all seemed to have when Magneto wasn't, or the way they looked down at him. He just kept telling him that sometime rather soon he would outrank and out power them all.

However, it was driving him stir crazy, the waiting around, not being able to do anything to help the cause. That was the part he hated the most, much more than not being readily accepted by the other members. Magneto did know that, and all he said was that perhaps this was a good exercise for the young, sometimes rash, man. Patience was a virtue, John was told. He had to bite his tongue from saying what he really felt about it.

John finally convinced Magneto to let him go on a mission. Even if he was still waiting, still disabled from who he really was, he wanted so much to help out. After much debate, thinking, pleading, and the like, Magneto finally let John – benched on the sidelines but still part of the team, he was assured – play an inning, even if he was the underdog.

John had been grateful for it, he really had, even if he was only the driver of the getaway vehicle, and the eyes to watch outside the building were anyone to unexpectedly happen by.

Of course he had screwed it up. By no fault of his own, mind. But still, he was not pleased with being the 'human' fuckup on the big, important mutant mission.

Magneto and Gambit found John curled into a ball beside the getaway car, clutching at his stomach. His entire body was drenched in sweat, shaking and quivering. A small bit of blood trickled out the side of his mouth from where he had bit the inside of his cheek hard to keep himself from wailing in the agony he was feeling.

They had picked him up, shoved him into the backseat of the car, and Magneto took the wheel. John was now curled up under a blanket, shivering with cold although there were beads of sweat running in rivulets down his face.

"I'm so sorry," John said though clenched teeth, trying not to show how much pain he was in. It felt like a thousand hot pokers had been stabbed into his stomach. "I didn't mean to. I don't know what happened."

"But of course you do," Magneto said calmly. "You know exactly what is happening."

"I think I will be meeting the real firestarter soon, oui?" Gambit said, his lyrical Cajun accent filling the car. He glanced from the front passenger seat to look at John, who was situated behind the driver's seat. Nodding encouragingly, he added, "This is a good thing."

John just snorted a little bit, not answering Gambit. He wasn't sure if he liked the other mutant yet, the charismatic and handsome fellow who tried to charm his way into everyone's good graces. Though he was a thief and a conman, those weren't the reasons John didn't entirely trust this Remy LeBeau. He had heard Gambit had been at the Center before being recruited by Magneto, and may have been romancing Rogue, of all people. It explained a lot, much more than Gambit would ever realize, but it was enough to make John quite bitter and to distrust him. Sleeping with the enemy and all that. Which was, of course, the reason he didn't bring it up with Gambit or Magneto, for having the same (but entirely different) situation thrown back into his face wasn't a conversation he was eager to have.

"Yeah," John said, wishing it sounded more casual and bland rather than the pained grunt that it was.

"You will be out of commission for some time, you do realize?" asked Magneto. John just nodded but met Magneto's eyes in the rear-view mirror, getting a nod in return. John idly wondered if Magneto was driving with two hands on the wheel, or with them clasped calmly on his lap with a barely-there twitch of his index finger controlling the car. It used to freak John out whenever he did that, made him so nervous, and he swore Magneto did it for his own entertainment sometimes. John hoped he wasn't using this as one of those times.

Suddenly, John's entire body shuddered violently as a wave of nausea moved over him. "Crap. Crapcrapcrap. Crap," he muttered quietly. "We've got to stop the car."

"What?" Gambit exclaimed, looking back at him in alarm. "We can not do that. This is a getaway car. The whole point is just that. To get away. Far away. And fast. No one can even know we are in possession of this."

"Fine, pretty boy. But don't complain to me if your beloved trench gets puked all over."

"Sir, I think it be best if we pull over," Gambit said immediately.

"Indeed," Magneto said, and John swore he heard a slight bit of amusement in his voice. John felt the car decelerating, and when it came to a complete stop, he scrambled for the handle and pushed the door open, falling ungracefully onto the gravel on the roadside. He crawled a few feet before he felt his lunch spill out of him, the heaving and stench only making him wretch some more.

After a couple of minutes, it felt like his stomach was finally empty. Looking up from where he kneeled on the ground on all fours, he saw Magneto still in the driver's seat, but with the window rolled down, and Gambit was outside the car, leaning against the driver's side back door, having a smoke. If either of them seemed disgusted by this embarrassing, demeaning moment, they didn't show it.

"You have a rough few of weeks ahead of you," Magneto stated smoothly.

"I know, sir," John replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "But it's nothing compared to the last few months."

Magneto smiled at this. "Well put, my boy. Now, if you are ready, we really must be getting along," he said, then his window began to roll up.

John nodded and brought himself up to a standing position, though struggled to do so. He glanced up and saw Gambit's face twisted into a grin. "I am glad for this," Gambit said. "You make a boring human."

The next thing he knew, Gambit was crying out in surprise as a flame from the end of his cigarette jumped up onto his hand and caught the fingerless glove on fire. Gambit waved it around, and then patted it down, all the while releasing a string of French, which John could only imagine was quite a few dirty insults.

"Why'd you do that for?" Gambit asked angrily, turning his weird red-on-black eyes to John in a glare.

John was back down on the ground on his hands and knees, body shaking and skin clammy, the use of his returning powers weakening him so much he couldn't stand. "For that poker game," he growled out, "when you charged that damned card you dealt to me. I've been waiting two and a half weeks to do that."

Gambit used his mutation to telekinetically charge objects, making them explode - the extent of damage depended on the size of the object and how much charge he put into it. He seemed to have no qualms in using it as a prank against others when he felt the need to be amused.

Gambit stared incredulously at him for a moment, and then a wide smile broke across his face as he threw back his head in laughter. He walked over and held out a hand, shaking his head in amusement. "It really is good to meet you, Pyro."

Pyro didn't say anything but took the extanded hand, using it to pull himself up off the ground. He stumbled into the back seat and covered himself in the blanket. Magneto pulled the car away from the side of the road and they inconspicuously made their getaway.

They left John behind, and Pyro was glad to finally do so.

 **[ END ]**


End file.
